All Star Dormammu
by Gambit14
Summary: The Dread Lord Dormmamu is banished to Earth, and to pass the time takes up a sort of heroing. Rated for some over the top violence, demonic themes, and implied sexual content. Reviews appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

A/N This is canon with my All Star Kraven fic, but it's not necessary to read one to enjoy the other.

To any amateur astronomers, it would have seemed that a meteor was falling across the sky. To an amateur astrologer, this shooting star, in conjunction with the peculiar alignment of planets and stars, would seem a most dire portent of things to come. The latter, for once, were right.

The glowing shape did not form a physical crater when it impacted the earth, but a day later, a cow gave birth to a calf with two heads, and a feeble old man was surprised to discover he had grown a barbed tail. The shape lay spread out on the ground for a while, like some form of flaming jelly, and then slowly came together, and grew, until it formed the shape of a man.

It remained in the shape of a man for only a moment before becoming the man himself, tall, and, if slender, with well defined muscles. Long black hair was tied back in a ponytail that reached down half his back, and the pupils of his eyes seemed to contain tiny dancing flames. He wore a black leather jacket, which hung open, revealing that he had only disdain for most shirts, and a pair of black jeans.

He glanced up at the sky for a moment, noting the positions of the planets and stars, and shook his head. "That is unfortunate," he said, in a deep and melodious- practically musical- voice. "Well, it would appear I have some time to kill." He closed his eyes for a moment, and then nodded, smiling wickedly. "At least I have arrived at an interesting time. I believe this will be more fun than I have had since the Dark Ages." He glanced about until he saw a road, and walked to it. By lucky chance- for him, if not for the drivers- a red convertible was driving along the road. He smiled and extended his thumb. The convertible stopped, and the driver, a blonde in a halter top, smiled.

"Hey handsome," she said, "Need a lift? Which way are you going?"

The wicked grin returned, wider than ever. "Whichever way you'll take me," he said, and ran his eyes over both her and her dark haired companion, eliciting giggles from both of them. He licked his lips, giving a glance of slightly pointed teeth, before climbing into the back of the car next to the black haired woman.

"We're headed for Washington," said the woman with the black hair as the convertible started up again. "My name's Cherry, and this is Sue. What's your name?" She leaned up against his chest as she spoke.

"They call me Dormammu," said the man, putting an arm around her shoulder, "And I would love to go to Washington."

"Dormammu?" Sue said, mangling the pronunciation, which was probably for the best "Is that European?"

Dormammu through back his head and laughed at the night sky at that. When he was done laughing, he shook his head and said, "A bit farther than that."

He left the girls in bed together, and used the tiniest spark of his powers to start the car. He did pay the motel bill, though, since they had been enthusiastic and eager to please the previous night. Granted, he paid with money from Sue's wallet, but then, he made no pretense to morality. For that matter, he had no particular need to steal the car- he had been telling the truth when he said he was planning to head to Washington. He could go faster this way though, and he had already started to make some cosmetic changes to the car, lowering the shade of the paint to a deep crimson, and turning the seats leather.

The radio was currently enthusiastically playing static, of which Dormammu rather quickly became bored. He touched the radio with one finger for a moment, and then drove on, as the sound of Johnny Cash's 'Man in Black' filled the air. Environmentalists and oil moguls the world over would have been astounded to learn that he drove from the middle of Nevada to Washington without once stopping for gas. That, however, was a secret he kept to himself, and far from the only one. He found a parking garage, and left the car there, and then went for a walk.

He turned heads, of both genders, which was somewhat gratifying and somewhat amusing, as he walked down the street. He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflective side of a building, and paused a moment, examining the effect. "Not bad," he said aloud after a moment, and set out again, "But I could use some real clothing." It was more the principle of the thing than any real need for raiment, he could sustain the clothes he wore now, or, if need be, the illusion of them, indefinitely. Still, an hour later he was clad in a full length duster and low brimmed hat over a loose black silk shirt and pants. He had also opened his mind to the world for another quick burst of information, and knew his next destination.

On the way there, though, on a whim, he made a small detour, into a substantially less pleasant part of town. Its existence was rather interesting, he thought. With the mainstream drafting of superhumans, the country had a never before rivaled source of crime fighting- and, for that matter, a soaring economy. Still, this had rather led to greater numbers of poor, and resultantly crime, rather than lesser. The explanation was simple when one thought about it. Though there were few enough superhumans employed outside of the army, intelligence agencies and police force, those who were generally had the ability to do work that would otherwise employ hundreds, if not thousands. And that was without figuring into the equation robots, with their near universal ability to out compete humans in any number of fields. Hence, it was not long before two unsavory looking characters began to follow Dormammu, judging correctly by his clothing that he was likely to have enough money in his wallet.

It had apparently escaped the notice of these two that anyone walking in an area of a city such as this one, and dressed as Dormammu was likely had serious mental problems, or some good reason not to fear for their wealth or person. Dormammu could be said to fit in either category, as his mental processes indeed differed from those of most humanity, even if there were a good deal of similarities, and as he certainly had no reason to fear these two. Indeed, scarcely had they begun following him but he turned into a side alley where they would have no chance of being spotted by anyone likely to call the police should they decide to jump him.

They followed him into the alleyway, and to some hypothetical person following the followers, there would have been visible only a brief burst of light, casting shadows whose flickering quality rather suggested that the light was from flame rather than any steadier source. Several minutes later, Dormammu walked, capping off a small bottle he had conjured from the air, which was now filled with a red liquid.

From there he continued on to his original destination, a hideously designed brick building, with a sign proudly and garishly declaring it to be the headquarters and Washington recruiting office of the Super Human Registration and Draft Agency. Almost immediately upon entering and affirming that he was here to be recruited, Dormammu found a thick sheaf of paperwork thrust into his hand. With a needlessly elaborate shrug, he found a table he set the incomplete forms back on the desk of the woman who had handed them to him, and to forestall her protest, transformed them into a dozen doves, and her desk into a Siberian tiger.

He found himself granted an interview in short order, with a woman who identified herself as Special Shield Agent Carter, and who was perfectly aware of the effect her plunging neckline normally had on male interviewees. In fact she rather enjoyed disconcerting them, viewing it as the one bright spot in this unfortunate liaison job. Dormammu, on the other hand, seemed to be slightly amused, if by no means unappreciative, and Agent Carter found herself discomfited, which unusual occurence in itself added to her discomfort. She spoke firmly, trying to take control of the situation. "So… Mister Dormammu, how would you characterize your powers?"

Dormammu blinked as though he hadn't considered the question. "I am a God," he said after a moment. "Well, on Earth, mostly I am characterized as a Demon God. In exile at the moment, so my powers are not what they once were."

Agent Carter blinked at that, but quickly regained her composure. "All right… but what exactly can you do?"

"I am a God." Dormammu spoke slowly and clearly annunciated each syllable, as if explaining something to a small child, or a foreigner who undoubtedly was only faking not speaking English.

Agent Carter sighed. She was already on overtime, and she had to help plan Agent Woo's retirement party tonight, and all in all, she didn't feel like dealing with this. "Okay," she said, "I'll put you down for the mystical department then." She flipped through the pile of papers in front of her until she found the appropriate one, signed it, and handed it to him. "Here you go. Take this down to the transport room."

Dormammu stood, bowed gravely to Agent Carter, and accepted the paper. In the transport room, which a number of helpful signs directed him to, a small man with pale green skin was smoking a cigar. He glanced up guiltily as Dormammu came in, and asked gruffly "Papers?"

"Don't presume to try my patience," said Dormammu, and locked eyes with the man, who quailed immediately.

"No- I just need the papers, so I know where to send you," he said hurriedly, shrinking back in his chair.

"Very well," said Dormammu, handing him the paper. The man made a few quick mental calculation, and then raised his hands and teleported Dormammu. The demon god found himself standing in a large empty room. A moment later, the door swung open, and a tallish, heavily tanned blond man walked in.

"Hey, you're the new guy? Well, obviously. Welcome to Doctor Shrada." At Dormammu's slightly quirked eyebrow, he explained. "Super Human Registration and Draft Agency Mystical Division. SHRADA M.D. Doctor Shrada. My name's Danny Rand. They call me the Iron Fist." He extended his hand, and Dormammu shook it.

"There are those who call me Dormammu," he said, glancing about. The purpose of the room was clear- to prevent a teleporter from materializing someone inside of a wall or table by mistake. "You are in charge here?"

Rand laughed. "Me? Hell no. I'm just the greeter." He grinned. "Come on, I'll show you around." He exited the room, and Dormammu followed. "What we just came out of was the teleportation receiving room, obviously. This, just as obviously is a hallway." It was long and winding, covered with a deep red carpet, with wood walls, in which were carved various arcane signs. "Helps dissipate some of the energies that build up when someone does serious magic," Rand explained. Dormammu nodded. He had already deduced as much.

A short way down the hallway was a room with a number of scrying glasses, a pool of water, and a mirror on the wall. "Situation room," said Rand, "Lets the sorcerer types keep an eye on what's going on in the world." As they left, they met a Chinese man. "This is Shang-Chi, Master of Kung-Fu," he said.

"What I practice is not Kung-Fu," said Shang-Chi. "Nor, for that matter, even considering the spiritual component is it mystical in nature."

Rand raised his hands. "Hey, not my decision to make," he said. "Okay, Shang-Chi master of some martial art whose name he has sworn not to disclose. Whatever." Dormammu nodded at Shang-Chi, and then followed Rand to a room full of numbered drawers. As they entered a man dressed in a leather jacket, with a chain coiled at his side like a whip was exiting.

"I am called Dormammu." He said, extending his hand.

"I don't do real names with strangers," said the other man. "You can call me Johnny Blaze."

Dormammu looked at him oddly for a moment, sensing something about him, and then shook his hand and continued into the archive. Rand pulled open a drawer, and pulled out, of all things, a severed human head.

"This is Baron Mordo," he said, cheerfully. "He's the last of the Black Circle. Come on Baron, tell him the story."

The head glared murder at Rand, and then looked at Dormmamu. Almost immediately, his eyes widened and he turned them to the ground. "Dread Lord Dormmamu," he said, "Praise be to you, and your will be done."

"Hello, Baron," said Dormmamu, taking the head from Rand, "Glad to see you're putting that immortality to good use. Go ahead- tell me the story."

Five years ago, the Soviet Union had completely fallen apart, Genosha was a hellhole torn apart by the race wars between humans and mutants, and Doom was just taking control of Latveria. America was the world's only superpower, and they were flexing their muscles.

A number of sorcerers with designs for power realized that if they were ever to realize their objectives, something would have to be done about the nascent mystical power of the United States. So formed the Black Circle; Baron Mordo, Nicholas Scratch, the Mandarin, Selene, Diablo, and the Sphinx. For a time, they held the world in terror, and even the Sorcerer Supreme, Doctor Strange, was hard pressed to contain their actions.

In the end, the United States found their base of location, high in the Tibetan mountains, and launched a retaliatory strike. A squad of crack SHIELD soldiers and metahumans supported by the first Guardsmen unit and the Goblin Corps attacked it in the dead of night, hoping to take them by surprise. Casualties were high before the fight began turning against the Sorcerer. First Nicholas Scratch went down under a swarm of insects under Yellow Jacket's control. That broke the link they had been using to combine their powers, and Diablo died in a hail of bullets. Half a dozen of the oddly shaped 'pumpkin' grenades from the Goblin Corps sufficed to kill the Mandarin, and the Sphinx broke and tried to run, only to be caught between two Guardsmen and literally ripped apart.

That left Selene and Mordo, in many ways the two most dangerous. It is doubtful whether they could have succeeded against these two, and they took more losses yet. But then Strange intervened, deadlocking Mordo and allowing the Guardsmen and Goblin Force to close with Selene and kill her at close quarters.

Mordo, though, represented something of a problem. Largely because he wouldn't die, not matter how many times they shot him. Like the villain of some slasher film or the Energizer bunny, he just kept coming and coming, though after one bright Guardsman crushed his hands, his magic was somewhat more limited.

Finally, they hit upon the idea of removing his head. Bizarrely, even then, though his body collapsed, he refused to die. Yellow Jacket, being both a pragmatist and somewhat psychotic at this point in time, immediately saw the opportunity, and brought the head home. Mordo then, under some duress, became the resident go-to for mystical information.

Dormammu shook his head. "Really Mordo, you've come down in the world, haven't you? You used to be my favorite cultist. Bit of an embarrassment really."

"Dread One, I have failed you. My life is yours to take." Dormammu got the distinct impression that if Baron Mordo had had a neck, he would have bowed his head in preparation for his death.

"Don't be ridiculous," Dormammu said. "I may still have use for you. So stay here, be good, and answer all of their questions."

"Yes, Dread Lord," said Mordo.

"Is that everyone?" Dormammu asked, dropping Mordo back into his drawer. "Less than I expected."

Rand shrugged, "Just about. You can blame Doctor Strange and that Harkness woman for that. They run some sort of combination school and army of magic users out of Tibet. But they've saved our butts too many times for us to really complain."

At about the time, there was the sound of a distant horn, echoing off the walls. "Alarm," said Rand. "Sorry to throw you in the deep end like this- although judging by Mordo's reaction, you know plenty about this stuff. But we need to go."

He sprinted to the door, and Dormammu, in no particular hurry followed him to the situation room. Johnny Blaze was standing there, and as Dormammu entered the room, there was a flash of flame and he became a skeleton surrounded by flame. Dormammu laughed. "I knew it! A bloody Ghost Rider! Fantastic!"

The flaming skull turned to him. "There's a major mystical disturbance in the Midwest," it said, as Shang-Chi entered the room behind them "The boss thinks it's the Sons of Set. Let's ride." So saying, he turned, and stepped into a mirror.

Dormammu nodded. A transport mirror, interesting. They were rare these days. He stepped through, and in a moment found himself facing rows upon rows of masked men. Their robes seemed to have been designed to seem snakelike, even if they were not the robes of the Set Worshippers he remembered. Upon seeing him and the others appear- and Johnny Blaze had appeared on a _motorcycle_- they began chanting, as with one voice. "Hail Hydra!" Then they charged.


	2. Chapter 2

"That doesn't make any sense," said Rand, springing forward to meet the wave of green clad fanatics. He moved quickly, tossing one over his shoulder, and punching another in the head. His hand glowed at that last part, and the man's neck audibly snapped. Shang-Chi, meanwhile, was moving too fast for the human eye to follow his individual strikes, but it was clear he was cutting a swathe through the fanatics. And in any case, Dormammu's eyes were not human. "HYDRA never had any real connection to the mystical."

"Hydra? That makes sense," Dormammu said, and made a sharp motion with one hand. The entire front rank of the fanatics burst into flame. "You see, Set _was_ the Hydra."

Johnny Blaze- or, as Dormammu had called him, Ghost Rider- was riding that inexplicable motorcycle, which, it should be noted, was on fire, straight over several of the HYDRA operatives, his chain flashing out and laying low several others. The others followed in the wake this left, fighting their way forward to the center of the HYDRA mass, where, on an altar, a great serpent was beginning to stir.

There was scarcely time to register this, however, before the mass of the HYDRA followers, still chanting, pressed in on them. Dormammu ignored them except when one got directly in his way, in which case he cast them down in fire. In this manner, he made his way to the altar, were the great serpent was beginning to unwind. "Set," he said companionably, seizing it by the throat.

"Dormammu." The voice did not come from the snake, per se, but rather from the space the snake occupied. It made on think of boulders grinding together in some unimaginable abyss, and also of snakes hissing, though it sounded like neither of those things. "Have the humans grown so powerful in my absence that they now hold even you in their thrall?"

"No," said Dormammu, "Just killing time. Among other things."

"You cannot believe that you can end me," said Set, and disappeared from Dormammu's grasp, reappearing as a huge lizard a few meters away. "Madame Hydra, deal with him."

A woman stepped out from behind the altar. She was dressed in a similar outfit to the HYDRA foot soldiers, except that it was rather tighter, and showed considerably more skin. She also had a twisting band of some greenish metal, shaped to resemble a serpent devouring its own tail, on her head. In each hand she carried a long wavy dagger.

"The Serpent Crown?" Dormammu said, stepping aside as she lunged at him. "You'd be the Bride of Set, then? Ah well, no accounting for taste." He caught her wrists as she spun on her heel and came at him again, and found his arms being forced back. "Yours, not his, that is. You're lovely." He turned into mist, and she fell through him, springing back to her feet immediately and whirling to face him as he became solid again. "So let's dance."

She sprang for him again, and he threw up a hand. One of the daggers cut deeply into it. Instead of blood, fire sprang forth from it, followed, an instant later, by a bolt of eldritch energy, which lifted Madame Hydra bodily off her feet, and flung her at the feet of Set, hard enough that it should have snapped her spine. She was on her feet again in an instant though, coming back at Dormammu.

"I have become transcendent through Set," she said, lashing out with one dagger. Dormammu moved his head back a fraction and allowed it pass a micrometer or so away from his face. "Your death is assured, for Set wills it so."

"Madame Hydra," said Dormmamu, "That is where you are mistaken." He caught one blade in his hand, ignoring the pain as it cut into his 'bone' irrelevant. She put the other blade between his ribs, where the heart would be in a normal human. "That hurts like hell," Dormammu said, twisting the blade he had caught out of her hand, and embedding it in the ground. "And I should know." She withdrew the blade from his ribs and leapt backwards, impossibly high, but landing gracefully nevertheless, and holding her remaining blade in both hands.

Dormammu stooped down, scooped up a handful of dust from the ground, and blew it at her. Somewhere in transit, it became a storm of whirling sand, cutting at her. She ignored the hundreds of small but deep wounds, which began closing almost as soon as they were formed, and advanced through the storm towards Dormammu again, throwing the remaining dagger. He caught it with one hand, and examined it critically.

"This is nice work, you know. I'll say that for Set. He doesn't skimp on the engagement presents. I understand rings are traditional in this day and age, but Set's an old fashioned sort." He tossed the blade back to her, and she caught it easily.

He glanced about as she came at him again- Rand, though bleeding from several minor wounds, was back to back with Shang-Chi, and they had cleared a substantial area of the battlefield. Blaze had left his motorcycle propped up against a tree, and with his chain in one hand and a sawed off shotgun- _also_ on fire- in the other, was wreaking bloody havoc on the enemy ranks.

"Why these pathetic would-be fanatics?" Dormammu asked, blocking Madame Hydra's next attack by checking the progress of her wrist with his own. "I remember the Sons of Set in the day of the Pharaohs, when they had fire in their bellies, and blood up to their elbows. I admit, you yourself are impressive enough, as champions go. For example, I can't imagine you allowing a bunch of humans to lop off your head and stick you in a drawer for use as a mystical encyclopedia. But your foot soldiers leave a lot to be desired, and they are, after all, the vast majority of your forces, number wise."

Madame Hydra hissed at him in rage, and delivered a kick to his chest. Dormammu absorbed it without flinching, and shook his head. "Enough of this," he said, "You begin to bore me." He knocked the blade out of her hand and then placed a hand on each side of her head. His eyes flashed white for a brief moment, and Madame Hydra jerked as if she had received an electric shock. Then she let out a wordless cry of loss and collapsed, leaving Dormammu holding the Serpent Crown.

Dormammu turned to face Set. The others, having subdued or otherwise dealt with the last of the HYDRA foot soldiers, flanked him. Set raised himself to his full enormous height. "She wounded you Dormammu," he said, "You are not what you once were, and you cannot hope to stand against me."

"Ah, but you were banished from this realm," Dormammu said, "You cannot bring your full power to bear. Unless of course, those blades- he nodded to the blade thrust point down in the earth, and the one that the unconscious Madame Hydra still grasped, "Taste blood." He glanced at the gash in his shirt. "Shame I don't bleed, isn't it? What's more, I have this." He nodded towards the crown. "You put a fair amount of your power in this, so you could affect this world. For someone who knows what they're doing, someone like, say, me, that's a line into the rest of your power."

"We were allies once," said Set, beginning to gather his power. "There is no true need for us to fight now. Think, with our powers, who could stand before us, if we stood together. What loyalty can you have to these mayfly mortals that could outweigh that?"

"Tempting," said Dormammu, "And I have no loyalty to these mortals. I'm sure I would have accepted, in fact, had you made this offer before you set your champion on me. As it is, though?" He set the crown on his head, and his eyes rolled back until only the whites were visible. For a long moment he and Set both stood motionless, and then Set screamed, and the sky broke apart. For an instant, all was blackness and what sounded like the buzzing of millions of insects. Then Set was gone, and the altar with him. Dormammu spun the Serpent Crown around on his finger for a moment, and then turned to the others.

"Well, don't tell me that you plan to just leave her lying there on the ground," he said, slightly impatiently, nodding towards Madame Hydra, who had now dropped the dagger, and was curled up in a fetal position, emitting a low moan. Shang-Chi picked her up with apparently little effort. She struggled weakly for a moment, but Shang-Chi put a hand on her back and put pressure on her spine. She went limp immediately.

Ghost Rider was looking at him, his expression impossible to read, what with his head being a flaming skull and all. "I think the boss is going to want to have a word with you," he said, finally.

Dormammu smiled wickedly. "Excellent. I've been wondering about this boss of yours." A large oblong suddenly seemed to detach itself from thin air, and became a mirrored surface. Dormammu stepped through it, but found himself not in the situation room as he had expected, but in a Spartan office, facing a man with close cut black hair, dressed in an immaculate business suit. He glanced up. "Ah, the great and terrible Dormammu," he said sardonically. "I'd thought you slumbering in R'lyeh."

"Medraut the Bastard," Dormammu said in identical tones. "I thought your father had left you dead at Camlann. Life, it seems, is full of these little surprises. How did you survive, incidentally? Not just Camlann, but all the way until now."

"It seems certain parties among the Fey have a vested interest in my continued existence," Medraut said, rising. "And so I found myself returned to this world, to await my part in the great game. I am rather more surprised at you. I had thought you swore never to bend you knee before another."

"Ask me to bow, and you will find that my oath is yet my bond," Dormammu said coldly.

Medraut suddenly smiled, and one could see how he could inspire men to follow him to their deaths in battle. Then the smile grew wicked, and one could see how he could inspire an entirely different sort of passion. "And if I asked to kneel?" He asked.

Dormammu's laughter echoed off the walls of the office for a good three minutes.


End file.
